


sweet as can be

by ravenreyamidala



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Baby Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Stanley Cup Magic, Wish baby, cup magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19393981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenreyamidala/pseuds/ravenreyamidala
Summary: Jack and Kent's first wedding anniversary is right around the corner, and Kent has something on his mind.





	sweet as can be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IprotectKennyP (dauntperplexity)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dauntperplexity/gifts).



> loved this prompt, had so many ideas for it, then ended up a little simpler than I'd like. Nevertheless, hope y'all enjoy! much much much thanks for everyone who encouraged me and to the mods who were very patient with me, what with asking for an extension, then submitting prompts for parse prompt week, and then managing to turn this in just under the wire on the original due date. 
> 
> and of course, all love and thanks to @halfdesertedstreets, who beta'd and just generally makes everything a little brighter.

Kent’s playing peekaboo with the cutest baby he’s ever seen when Jack plops a bucket of popcorn into Kent’s lap before carefully placing the biggest cup Kent’s ever seen into the cup holder between their seats. Kent forgets about the baby in favor of taking a sip from the straw — for some reason, he’s so thirsty— and has to swallow a groan of disappointment when he realizes it’s filled with Sprite. 

“Sorry, bud, they didn’t have any orange soda,” Jack says sympathetically as he sits down, reaching over to the popcorn bucket to grab delicately between his thumb and pointer finger precisely one piece of popcorn. 

“Are you going to wipe the butter off with a napkin too?” Kent chirps as Jack carefully chews his piece. 

“Fuck off, you know I hate getting kernels in my teeth,” Jack deflects, looking over his shoulder at the kid sitting behind him before slouching in his chair as if that’ll help the poor souls stuck behind them having to look over Jack’s abnormally tall everything. 

“I told you we should have sat in the back,” Kent says smugly before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“You know that strains my eyes,” Jack hisses, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bottle of water. 

“A sip or two of soda won’t kill you,” Kent points out as Jack cracks the seal. 

“I don’t want to catch your cooties,” Jack says, so perfectly deadpan, that even after a year of being married to Jack, it takes Kent a moment to realize Jack’s just trolling. 

“You know, if the newshounds could see you right now, no one would ever call you hockey robot again,” Kent reflects. 

“Good thing you won’t sell me out, eh?” Jack teases. 

“Buddy, the only reason Buzzfeed isn’t currently listicling all of the fucking brutal chirps you’ve used over the years is because no one would believe me,” Kent corrects. 

“That’s the only reason you haven’t sold me out?” Jack murmurs, turning the full force of his sad eyes and pout on Kent, who hasn’t fallen for that look since that incident in Paris. 

“Oh stop it, you big faker, I’d sell you out for one singular Red Vine,” Kent scoff, before taking a loud slurp of his Sprite. 

In response, Jack simply reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a packet of the aforementioned candy. Kent doesn’t squeal, but he’s embarrassed at how close a call it was. 

“Oh I knew there was a reason I proposed for a reason,” Kent sighs happily, taking the Red Vines from Jack. 

“Unlimited Red Vines?” Jack guesses wryly. 

“Unlimited Red Vines,” Kent agrees. “Now shut up, the movie’s starting.” 

Jack’s completely engrossed with the movie, some period piece that Kent’s only watching because it was Jack’s turn to choose, and Jack had very patiently sat through the last trashy action movie Kent had chosen. Kent’s distracted by the baby in the seat next to him. They’re remarkably well-behaved: Kent was initially concerned when the parent had sat down next to him, but his unvoiced fears were unfounded. At any rate, watching the baby is more interesting than watching the movie. The baby looks at the screen for a bit, mouth dropping in wonder at a particularly gorgeous wide shot, but their interest in the movie is soon abandoned in favor of trying to grab their toes. Kent watches, enraptured, when the baby does manage to grab one of their dancing feet and then promptly tries to stuff it in their mouth. All in all, Kent doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until his fingers are scraping the bottom of the popcorn bucket and Jack’s nudging him with his elbow. 

“Made a friend, eh?” Jack chirps, waving at the baby who looks at Kent before waving back shyly, smiling a little before looking away from the both of them. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Kent says awkwardly. “You know me and historical fiction.” 

“Oh I know,” Jack says, standing up, prompting Kent to scramble to gather their trash together neatly. “I appreciate you coming anyway.”

Kent fidgets under Jack’s fond look, befitting standing up. He doesn’t look back at the baby as they shuffle out onto the steps, even as the baby starts to cry. 

“System’s sacred, bro,” Kent dismisses. “You sat through that Mad Max movie with me.” 

“Okay, but that’s almost universally a good movie,” Jack argues. “I know what I like to watch isn’t for everyone, and so I really appreciate you coming with me.” 

“People shouldn’t go to the movies alone,” Kent mutters. “And...besides, I like spending time with you.” 

“I like spending time with you too,” Jack murmurs, before reaching out to grab Kent’s free hand and giving it a quick squeeze before letting it go. 

If Kent blushes in response to that brief touch, well, the theatre’s dark. 

* * *

“Kent, can y’all take Catie tonight?” their neighbor Elliot says without preamble as soon as Kent picks up the phone. Kent stops dancing to Elliot’s ringtone (Britney’s “Womanizer” because Kent likes irony), and processes the question. 

“Hello to you too,” Kent stalls, before his brain realigns, and he can think through his plans for the evening. “Uh, Jack and I should be free, yeah.”

“You’re sure? I normally wouldn’t ask, I know it’s playoffs, but it took forever to coordinate this meeting, and the next available date is months away, and the babysitter’s out sick, and my boyfriend’s not answering his phone, --,” Elliot rambles. 

“It’s fine, Elliot, we got this,” Kent cuts in, knowing not to let Elliot go on for too long. 

“Oh, bless,” Elliot breathes out in relief, and Kent can hear keys jangling. 

“When can we expect you?” Kent asks, amused before he takes a glance over his shoulder at the state of the living room and wincing. 

“I’ll be there in thirty,” Elliot says. Catie giggles in the background, and Kent melts at the sound, before abruptly remembering the mess in the living room. 

“Sounds good, see you soon!” Kent says hastily, ending the call before the last word is completely out of his mouth. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s picking up a half-empty container of Chinese takeout that was previously balanced precariously on the couch arm when he remembers that he hasn’t called Jack yet. He mainly remembers this because he can hear the garage door opening. Kent frantically cleans faster as Jack’s footsteps move closer and then stop. Kent straightens up and shoots Jack a sheepish smile. 

“Hey buddy,” Kent draws out, arms full of trash. He’s pretty sure the grin he flashes at Jack doesn’t make him look any less guilty, but it’s not like Kent can hide this unintentional surprise. 

Jack takes in the scene for a moment, taking in the half-cleaned living room, before looking at Kent again. 

“Is someone coming over?” Jack asks, reaching over the back of the couch for the trash. Kent gladly hands it over. 

“Well, so, we’re babysitting tonight,” Kent says quickly, before squatting down and grabbing more trash from under the coffee table to he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Jack. 

“Why are you being so weird about this?” Jack asks, clearly amused. “You’re not the only one who enjoys spending time with Catie.” 

“I don’t know, I just -- brain weasels?” Kent offers half-heartedly, straightening up before collapsing onto the couch. The living room is as clean as it’s going to get without him busting out the vacuum cleaner, and he’s honestly even sure where it is, since the housekeeper uses it the most. 

Jack puts his hands palm down on the couch, and that’s all the warning Kent gets before Jack’s vaulting over the back of the couch and lands almost in Kent’s lap, except Kent moves right before he’s crushed under Jack’s weight. 

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Jak says softly, slinging a hand on the couch behind Kent. 

“I know,” Kent says, smiling softly at Jack. “I don’t quite know what’s going on yet, but once I figure it out, you’ll be the second to know.” 

“Only second? I’m hurt,” Jack says, deadpan. 

“Well, first after me,” Kent points out, and Jack chuckles briefly before leaning in. Their lips are just about to meet when the doorbell rings. Kent moves his head to the side; when Jack sighs, Kent’s close enough to feel the heat and moisture of Jack’s breath on his ear, but he pulls away from Jack in favor of walking to the door. 

“Hi Kent, thank you so much,” Elliot says in a rush, thrusting a shy Catie forward into Kent’s arms. She gives him a mistrustful look, and he just looks back with a wide smile. Thankfully, she doesn’t burst into tears, but he knows that as soon as Elliot isn’t in her immediate vicinity, they’re in for at least ten minutes of crying. 

“No problem, bud,” Jack says from behind Kent, curling an arm around the one Kent’s using to support Catie and dropping his head on Kent’s shoulder. 

“Y’all are still acting like newlyweds even a year later, I’m envious,” Elliot says good-naturedly, but Kent can see the strain lines around Elliot’s eyes, and gently extricates himself from Jack’s embrace to grab the bag Elliot hands over. 

“You know the drill, but there’s a folder with an updated contact sheet for your fridge. She’s been a little clingy lately, but you just give her teddy bear and she’ll calm down eventually! We usually have dinner at six,” Elliot starts, but Jack cuts him off with a low chuckle. 

“Eli, just go do your thing, we have this handled,” Jack reassures, reaching over to grab Catie from Kent. Kent doesn’t precisely resent the way Catie lights up once Jack starts softly murmuring to her in Quebecois, but that’s only because the sight of Jack with a baby always makes Kent a little weak in the knees. 

Elliot looks uncertain for a moment, before he settles for dropping a kiss on Catie’s head and ducking out before she notices he’s leaving. Kent gently closes the door behind Elliot’s quickly retreating back-- they all know from experience that if Elliot is in earshot of the waterworks, he won’t be able to leave. 

Jack’s magical baby powers seem to be working for now, and Jack continues to coo to her as they walk to the living room. Kent sets the diaper bag down on the couch and digs through it until he finds the teddy bear, just as Elliot’s ancient car roars to life in the driveway right next to the living room window. At the sound, Catie looks away from Jack and her bright brown eyes search the room. She twists in Jack’s arms and grunts to be put down. Kent follows her as she toddles around the living room, counting down from ten in his head. At three, her lower lip starts wobbling as she realizes Elliot’s gone, and Kent swoops in to scoop her up. She’s temporarily distracted by her Winnie the Pooh plush, but then the tears come. Kent settles on the couch to ride it out. 

The next few moments as Catie cries are excruciating, not just on their eardrums-- after the first few screams, Catie always sniffles and that always gets to Kent more than the loud wails. He knows he’s projecting, but her silent tears remind him so much of how he had learned to tamp down his pain. 

“Look like she’s getting used to us, eh?” Jack comments, sitting next to Kent and offering Catie a sippy cup. She looks at him suspiciously, Jack’s charm not quite at full effectiveness again, but takes the cup and holds it to her mouth without drinking. 

“Yeah, that felt shorter than usual,” Kent agrees, watching her raptly as she finally decided to start drinking. 

“I’m glad we only have to deal with that for a couple of minutes,” Jack comments. Catie takes the cup out of her mouth and tosses it on the carpet in favor of making grabby hands at Jack. Kent gives her to Jack with a laugh. 

“Well, it’s probably because of you,” Kent points out. “Seems like you only inherited the Zimmermann Charm when it comes to small children.” 

Jack shrugs, leaning back against the couch so that he can rest Catie against his chest. She closes her eyes and for a moment Kent can imagine she’s theirs, and the wanting that rises in his chest makes the breath catch in his chest for a moment before he can properly inhale. 

Jack’s looking down at Catie, eyes soft, and Kent wonders if now’s the moment to talk to Jack, but then Catie’s arms go slack and the teddy bear falls, and Catie immediately wakes up and starts wailing. 

By the time they’ve gotten her settled for the night, the moment is gone. 

* * *

Jack’s not exactly worried, really. Concerned, and there’s a distinction, his therapist has reassured him that over the years, but Jack knows how to keep it under control. Kent’s being a little weird, but Kent’s always had periods of weirdness-- it’s almost normal for them, at this point. 

But still. Jack’s not worried. He’s just concerned. There’s an important distinction. He spends a couple of days mulling over how exactly to express his concerns, and after some brief Googling and a ten minute phone call with his therapist, he finally feels ready to talk to Kent. He walks into the living room, where Kent’s scrolling through his phone on the couch, and sits down on the other side of the couch. 

“So, eh, you’ve been weird lately,” Jack starts, and immediately wants to smack himself, especially when Kent gives him a startled look and puts his phone down. 

“Love you too, Zimms,” Kent snarks, and a Jack that hadn’t been married to Kent for almost a year now would have given up at that point, but Jack knows Kent better now. He’s pretty sure Kent is deflecting, because he knows the pattern now, and he can remember all the other times Kent had snarked in response to Jack’s concern, and Jack being discouraged from continuing his line of questioning. Rebuilding their relationship had involved conscious effort on both their parts to overcome these patterns, but sometimes, like now, it’s almost too easy to relapse into old habits. 

And Jack doesn’t retreat, but he takes a breath and puts his hands into his pocket, and fidgets with the loose change inside. The familiar brush of the embossing of what he’s pretty sure is a loonie grounds him and gives him the push he needs to keep talking. 

“I-- you know I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just. You’ve been spacey and a little cagey recently. Did I forget something? It’s past your birthday and our anniversary isn’t for another couple of weeks,” Jack presses. 

Kent worries his lip. Jack is briefly distracted by the white of Kent’s teeth on his pink lip before the comforting weight of the loonie in Jack’s hand shakes him out of it. 

“Kent?” Jack prompts, wanting to reach out and touch Kent, but insecurity kept his hands in his pockets, clutching a loonie like a lifeline. 

Kent takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before his shoulders change subtly-- Jack can’t describe it exactly, but he knows what Kent’s going to say is important. And that it scares Kent. 

“Remember how we went to couples’ therapy before we got married?” Kent starts, and Jack also knows Kent’s stalling, but Jack’s been avoiding this conversation for days, so he’s in no position to point that out. 

“Yeah, why? Do-- do you think we need to go back?” Jack replies. If Kent does, that’s a good sign, right? It means Kent hasn’t given up on Jack-- on them. 

“No, no, just-- let me finish, okay? If you keep interrupting me, I’m not going--,” Kent cuts himself off, sitting on his hands. Jack watches Kent purse his lips and furrow his brows in thought, and feels a wave of love so strong that it nearly scares Jack. 

“You know how we babysat for Elliot the other day?” Kent finally says. 

“Yeah?” Jack says, confused, before remembering Kent told him not to interrupt and closing his mouth abruptly. 

“Iwntkd,” Kent blurts out, and Jack has to blink rapidly before he realizes that he didn’t actually understand what Kent just said. 

“Uh, didn’t catch that, bud, do you mind saying that slower?” Jack finally says when the silence has stretched out between them long enough for Jack to realize Kent won’t say it again without prompting. 

“I...I want a kid, Jack,” Kent says, looking down at his feet. “We talked about it, in the Q, re-- remember? And I just. I know we still have hockey, and the laws aren’t on our side, and even if one of us retires, we don’t have time for a baby, and adoption is this whole huge big thing, and I just don’t know how it would work, Jack, but I want it so bad.” 

Jack is quiet for a moment, mind racing. And then he thinks that he’s overthinking this and that maybe he should start talking so that Kenny stops looking so pale and worried. 

“Kent, I want kids too-- I don’t know how this would work either. We’re twenty-eight, we’re finally on the same team again, we’re playing the best hockey of our lives, there’s just,” Jack says. 

“I know,” Kent says miserably, sliding a hand down his forlorn face. “I know it won’t work Jack, and that’s why I haven’t said anything. Just-- forget about it, okay?” 

“I don’t think this is the type of thing you can just brush under the rug,” Jack points out, unsurely. “Like, we have to talk about this.” 

“I know, I just-- it’s playoffs, Zimms, can we do it after the season?” Kent pleads. “I’ve already thought of all the ways this conversation can go, trust me. I was going to talk about it, but there’s too much going on right now.” 

“Kenny, I’m always happy to focus on hockey, but if-- this is clearly affecting you, I don’t feel entirely comfortable leaving it for later,” Jack says nervously. 

Kent scoots closer to Jack on the couch and leans his head on Jack’s shoulder. They sigh in unison, before looking at each other and letting out a little chuckle. 

“Jack, I promise we’ll talk about it later,” Kent reassures. “Let’s just play hockey, okay? We can figure out the rest later.” 

* * *

The buzzer sounds mere seconds after Kent manages to aim a sweet wrister into the top shelf of the goal, and then Jack’s hugging him, the rest of their team following. He grins up at Jack. They did it. They finally won the Stanley Cup together. 

Kent raises an eyebrow at Jack, tilting his chin up in a way that can only mean one thing. Jack furrows his brow for a moment before the wrinkles smoothen out, and leans in. They’re kissing before Kent has fully processed what they’re doing, but he couldn’t care less right now. They won the fucking Stanley Cup, fuck all the PR admonishments to keep the PDA nonexistent. 

They break apart and are immediately swarmed by various friends and family members. Kent grins at Jack, who grins back. 

They get a chance to hold the Stanley Cup together, lift it over their heard, grin so wide their jaws ache, before Kent has to go talk to the press, while Jack slips away. 

By the time Kent gets back to the locker room, it’s empty and quiet except for the sound of a shower running. Kent peeks in and starts drooling at the sight of Jack’s ass, in all its bare glory, facing him. He looks the locker room door and quickly strips, walking into the showers quietly. Kent slides his arms around Jack’s waist and leans his cheek against Jack’s shoulder blade. 

“Good goal, Kenny,” Jack says. 

“How did you know it was me?” Kent asks, not moving, enjoying the dual warmths of the water and Jack’s skin against his. 

“You’re the shortest guy on the team, Kenny,” Jack chirps softly, before reaching back and adjusting Kent so they’re face to face now. Kent looks up at Jack, who is looking down at him with the kind of love and adoration that has Kent forgetting they just won the Stanley Cup and just basking in how far they’ve come together, and how happy Jack makes him. 

And then Jack carefully kneels down, and Kent’s brain short-circuits. 

“Jack— no, your knees, the tile,” Kent admonishes, but Jack’s still grinning up at him. 

“Guess I’ll have to be extra good to make sure I’m not kneeling on these tiles too long,” Jack says brightly. “I’m going to suck your dick now, three-time Stanley Cup winner.”

That’s all the warning Kent gets before Jack fucking deepthroats him. It takes all of Kent’s inconsiderable self-control to not come right there and then. Kent thinks he’s doing an admirable job of holding off on his orgasm, but then Jack fucking does that thing with his tongue, and Kent loses that last bit of self control he has and comes. Jack just swallows it all, before carefully pulling away and standing up. 

Kent reaches up and uses his thumb to wipe a bit of come from Jack’s mouth. Jack’s eyes are dark as he turns his head and licks Kent’s thumb. 

“We should get home,” Kent mutters as Jack pulls them closer together. 

“We should,” Jack agrees, before slotting their mouths together in a heated kiss. 

* * *

They wake up two days after the win with no memory of the day before, heads pounding with the mother of all hangovers. 

“Oh my god, how much did we drink?” Kent groans, not even trying to get out of bed, eyes still closed as he lies on his back. 

Jack, beside Kent but lying on his stomach, vaguely waves a hand near Kent’s mouth. 

“Too...loud,” Jack mutters. “Too...bright. Close...curtains?”

“I’m older than you, you do it,” Kent grumbles, but starts slowly shifting towards the window. Sitting up and stretching an arm out, he manages to grab the curtains and rearrange them so there’s marginally less light in the room. Jack groans in relief, and Kent would roll his eyes at Jack’s dramatics if experience hadn’t taught him that that action would have him upchucking. He’s been this hungover too many times. 

He’s about to collapse back onto the bed when a loud piercing cry catches his attention. 

“Whathefuck iz that?” Jack slurs sleepily. 

Kent shushes him absently, listening. 

“Is...that Catie?” Jack says, voice clearer but still sleep-muddled. 

“No,” Kent says absently. “That’s-- it’s a younger baby.” 

“Snickers’ kid?” Jack guesses. 

“Just-- go back to sleep, I’ll figure it out,” Kent says, getting up and striding to the bedroom door, where he takes a deep breath before turning the doorknob and leaving the room. 

There are no babies in the living room. Or in the kitchen. When Kent hears the cry again, he knows for certain it’s coming from their front doorstep. He walks over and opens the door and doesn’t look down until he hears the cry again. 

* * *

Jack finds Kent in the living room a couple of hours later, the house free of any other hungover hockey players. Kent seated in the couch, his back to Jack, so Jack takes a moment to lean against the door frame and admire how the light coming through the windows has Kent’s unkempt hair glowing. Having seen his fill, Jack moves closer, walking quietly. He drops a kiss on the nape of Kent’s neck, closing his eyes and inhaling a scent that’s purely Kent. 

“You haven’t combed your hair yet,” Jack murmurs. “That hangover really got to you, huh?” 

When Kent doesn’t answer immediately, Jack opens his eyes and vaults over the back of the couch like he usually does. What is unusual is the way Kent flinches away from the movement, scooting away from Jack on the couch. 

“Hey, everything oka--” Jack begins before he catches sight of the bundle Kent’s cradling protectively. “ _ Is that a baby _ ?”

“Surprise?” Kent tries weakly, clutching the baby closer to his chest. 

“Kent, please tell me we’re babysitting for a new neighbor who moved in yesterday or something. No wait, don’t tell me that, we drank so much yesterday that we’d probably get sued for criminal endangerment or something,” Jack babbles. “Where the fuck-- who gave you a baby, Kent?” 

“I don’t know! They were on our doorstep this morning, no note or anything!” Kent says. 

“Okay, the baby has to belong to someone, they can’t just appear out of thin air!” Jack points out, lowering his voice midway through when the baby lets out a whine. 

“I know Jack! But just-- here, see for yourself,” Kent says before putting the baby into Jack’s arms. He pulls back the blanket a little, and Jack finds himself at a loss for words. 

“Kent, what did we take yesterday?” Jack wonders. “Because I’m either tripping balls on LSD or you cheated on me with someone else who had this baby who looks just like every baby picture I’ve ever seen of you. And the LSD seems more likely, I know how gay you are.” 

“Jack, I swear, I don’t know how this happened,” Kent says, voice cracking, and Jack looks up from the baby to see tears forming in Kent’s eyes. “I would-- I would never cheat, you have to know that. I don’t know where the baby came from.” 

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but the baby coos, and Jack looks down. Kent scoots over, and they spend a moment staring at the baby, who decides that’s the perfect moment to blink up at them. 

Kent gasps as the baby reveals their blue eyes, looking up at Jack, who blinks at Kent with identical eyes. 

“Jack,” Kent says. “The baby has your eyes.” 

Jack looks at the baby again, who obligingly makes their eyes wide as if sensing Jack’s doubt. 

“Lots of babies have blue eyes,” Jack says weakly. 

Kent doesn’t even say anything, just gives Jack a look that is so full of skepticism that Jack suddenly worries if he’s even sure about his ability to hold a newborn properly and hands the baby to Kent, who takes the bundle with so much care and with adoration shining out of his eyes that Jack can’t not say something, because this is going to end badly if he doesn’t nip it in the bud. 

“Kent,” Jack starts, a little helplessly because he doesn’t know how he’s going to finish the sentence, but then Kent looks up at Jack, nearly incandescent with happiness, and Jack falters, because Kent didn’t look that happy even when they were hoisting the Stanley Cup over their heads together. 

“Yeah, Jack?” Kent prompts, looking back at the baby. 

“Uh, we’re going to need supplies, right? For the--for the baby,” Jack says automatically, before silently cursing himself. 

“Oh, yeah, I texted Elliot about any stuff he might be able to spare,” Kent says absently, making faces at the baby who watches Kent raptly. 

“Kent, we can’t keep the baby,” Jack blurts out, before clapping his hands over his mouth in horror. He can’t bear to look at Kent, and his mind races with how Kent will respond to Jack. 

“I know,” Kent says brightly, and Jack looks at him to see Kent smiling at the bundle, clearly trying to sound happy for the baby’s sake. “I know we can’t keep this adorable little nugget, but we can talk about that later, oh yes we can.” 

Jack considers pressing his point, but then the baby coos, and Jack finds himself scooting closer to Kent and admiring the baby together. 

Jack and Kent will figure it out later. This is just temporary. Jack might as well enjoy it before it’s over. 

* * *

Except, one day Jack wakes up in the morning and realizes the baby has been living with them for a month. He puts a hand on Kent’s side of the bed, which is cool to the touch. Jack can hear Kent singing to the baby in the kitchen, so he’s hopeful that Kent has maybe finished making breakfast. His gaze catches on the co-sleeper attached to the bed as he finally processes the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the house. 

There’s a co-sleeper, but that’s not all. Their bedroom is full of various baby things, the dresser hastily modified to act as a diaper changing station, bottles and clothes and a soft penguin plushie that Jack had won for Kent at a fair in the Q all strewn across the floor. 

When he steps into the kitchen, Kent is dancing with the baby, singing along to the song on his phone. There’s a package near the table. The oven dings just as Jack steps over the threshold between the kitchen and living room, and Kent catches sight of him at the same time. 

“Perfect timing, grab the bacon from the oven please,” Kent says, before dropping a kiss on the baby’s head. 

Jack grabs the oven mitt waiting on the counter and takes out the tray. After putting it down, he walks over to Kent. 

“What are you thinking?” Kent asks as he bounces in place, looking down at the baby. 

Jack stills Kent by wrapping his arms around Kent and pulling him close, the baby nestled between them. He presses a chaste kiss to Kent’s cheek, before stroking a hand over the baby’s wild curls. 

“Nothing,” Jack says. “Just about how much I love you both.” 

“Aw, that’s so sappy,” Kent chirps. “You’re not going to get out of nanny interviews with that though.” 

“I think you’re going to cancel them when you realize you’ll have to put the baby down,” Jack retorts gently. 

“I put the baby down!” Kent protests. 

Jack just raises an eyebrow at him, and Kent flushes. 

“Is that the changing table?” Jack asks, gesturing to the package. 

“Yeah, I think so! Do you mind putting it together after breakfast? We can’t keep using the dresser, eventually our little pumpkin pie will learn how to roll over,” Kent says, before stepping away from Jack and nuzzling the baby. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Jack says easily. “Don’t forget to fill out the birth certificate. We really have to send that in soon, Kenny.” 

“I know, I know,” Kent pacifies. “I’ll do it.” 

“Do you have a name in mind?” Jack asks, grabbing two plates from the cupboard and putting three strips of bacon on one and two on another before setting them on the table. 

Kent looks down at the baby, who looks up at him with Jack’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” Kent says thoughtfully. “I do.” 


End file.
